


Constant Knot

by mockturtletale



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockturtletale/pseuds/mockturtletale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t even think about getting a fever, do you hear me?”</p><p>When Mike smiles at him it’s still too weak, half a grimace, and Harvey doesn’t like this at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Knot

**Notes** : Sick!Mike. Written for [this prompt](http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/3323.html?thread=3392507#t3392507) in the [Suits Kink Meme](http://suitsmeme.livejournal.com/): Thank you to the OP for the lovely prompt! ♥ Title from the City and Colour song. Wholly and always for my bff Taelor.

 

 

 

 

 

They’ve been seeing one another in capacities far beyond those detailed in their contracts for about six weeks when they hit their first serious snag.

More nights than not, Mike sleeps at Harvey’s condo. It’s been _six weeks_ so they’re not living together. It’s just easier, more efficient for Mike to keep some of his things in the empty side of Harvey’s walk-in wardrobe. His toothbrush sits beside Harvey’s in the holder for the sake of dental hygiene, that’s all. Harvey’s just thankful Donna doesn’t comment when he has her add Mike’s bike to his insurance policy. He pointedly ignores the way her fingers falter over the keyboard for the first time he can remember, and makes a comment about a crime wave in Mike’s neighborhood that they both know was too much effort, too hard a sell.

They’re not living together.

So Harvey tries not to read too much into it when Mike calls him from the office one evening about an hour after Harvey had left him there to finish up his workload for the day while Harvey went home to clean up and wait for him. He’s found he really enjoys that part of their day, having a couple of hours to shower and relax and slip from the stressed boundaries of the working day into the easy, quiet ways they’ve found to fit together.

He’s disappointed when Mike tells him - voice hushed and distracted like he’s not even paying attention to what he’s saying and what it means - that he has to pick something up from his place later, it’ll probably be too late to come over to Harvey’s, he’s just going to sleep at his apartment tonight, he’ll see Harvey at work in the morning and that’s alright, that’s okay, isn’t it?

It’s not. But Harvey never wants to push Mike in this, into this, so he says it’s fine, sure, whatever Mike thinks, says it like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t matter to him either way.

Harvey falls asleep that night lying spread out in the very center of his bed, telling himself that it’s nice to have all this space. It isn’t too cold, too much, too empty.

 

 

  
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He sleeps late the next morning, later than usual because he tossed and turned most of the night, never really falling into a deep sleep. By the time he gets to the office he’s still exhausted, jittery with too much coffee and the itch of feelings he doesn’t know how to deal with. He thinks he’s kind of mad at Mike, pissed at him for doing something entirely reasonable, and more than that - above all else - looking forward to seeing him like he hasn’t in weeks, and mad at himself for that, confused by this tangle. Things used to be so straight forward. He can’t say it isn’t better now, messy and confusing and _more_ , but it takes a lot of getting used to.

And then he stops by the associates’ cubicle town and Mike isn’t at his desk. His computer is off and the back of the monitor cold, no childish messenger bag getting caught up under the wheels of his chair, no leaning tower of empty energy drinks. Donna confirms it - Mike didn’t turn up for work this morning, and even though he hears her say he isn’t answering his phone either, Harvey still has to try himself, knuckles white where he holds the phone to his ear as it rings and rings and rings.

It’s irrational and ridiculous and paranoid, nothing you could ever have accused Harvey Specter of entertaining before, but he goes rigid with fear, for just a moment. And then he thinks it through, pulls apart all the horrific possibilities vying for attention at the back of his mind and pulls himself together. He’d know if something had happened. Someone would have contacted him, the firm, even if Mike couldn’t himself. Everything is fine, Mike is fine.

Panic gives over to the lingering anger from before, rising up in spiked waves now. Mike probably just went out last night, ran off to rescue Trevor again, fell in love with a homeless man on his way home and is currently moving his things into a shopping cart for them to share. He’s probably fast asleep in his cheap, rickety bed, sleeping off a hangover, phone on silent and forgotten. Work forgotten. _Harvey_ forgotten.

It’s unacceptable.

Blowing off work, showing such blatant disregard for one’s responsibilities is pathetic and immature in itself, but not even having the decency to let Harvey know? He feels let down both as a boss and as a … person who the person in question is seeing. He’s more than disappointed, he’s incredulous. Outraged.

Mike better have a fucking fantastic explanation for this, Harvey vows, storming toward the elevator like a barely controlled tornado of whirling, seething anger.

 

 

  
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He’s still furious as he knocks sharply on Mike’s door, half hoping Mike doesn’t open up because he doesn’t know how he’ll hold himself back from firing him on sight.

But he does.

It takes several minutes, but Mike appears at the door.

He scrubs a hand across his face and what little color was in it drains visibly when he sees Harvey.

He’s clearly just woken up, still wearing the clothes Harvey had left him in yesterday, and he looks like death, except worse. He’s shaking, even though he has his arms wrapped around himself, his eyes are red rimmed, nose too, and his skin looks grey and as thin as paper. When he speaks, his voice is rough and thick and everything from the scratch of his words to the set of his mouth, the furrow between his eyebrows screams ‘I’m in pain’.

“Harvey … what … what time is it? Am I … oh my god, work, I’m … I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-”

Harvey deflates.

“Mike, relax. How did you get this sick this fast? Jesus, sit down.”

Mike’s wobbling in place, whether because he’s weak or disorientated or both Harvey doesn’t know, but he steps in, stoops to hook an arm around Mike’s waist and help him move back to the couch.

The place is a mess of tissues and half empty cups of coffee, the air stale and thick.

Harvey pulls aside the curtains, has the second it takes him to drag open the windows to calm down and think. When he turns back, Mike is sitting with his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey.”

Harvey sits down next to him, rubs his back.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“I -”

Mike has to stop, clear his throat.

“I started feeling crappy a couple of days ago, it only got bad last night. I didn’t - I didn’t want you to get sick too. I thought if I came here and dosed myself with some cough medicine, got a good night’s sleep, I’d be fine. I’m sorry, I’ll .. let me get ready. I’m sorry.”

And he actually tries to get up off the couch.

Harvey catches him with a hand on his hip, tugs Mike back down into his lap and just holds him against his chest.

“We’re going to get you out of these clothes, and get you into bed. Do you feel up to a shower?”

Mike just turns his face into Harvey’s throat, presses his nose in against the skin above his shirt collar and sniffles, clearly miserable. Harvey wants to be disgusted by it, wants to want to shove Mike away, but his arms close around him instead, hug him close and keep him there, where Harvey knows he’s safe, now.

“C’mon.” He murmurs with his mouth pressed to the top of Mike’s head.

“Let’s get you better.”

Harvey makes Mike shower sitting down in the bathtub, takes off his jacket and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows so he can test the spray, warm enough but not too hot and not too harsh against the clammy skin across Mike’s back.

He goes and changes Mike’s sheets, cleans up his living room and makes sweet tea and toast until Mike calls out hoarsely to say he’s finished. Harvey helps him out, makes him stand still on the mat in the middle of the bathroom floor while Harvey takes the towel he’d set to heat on the radiator and wraps it around Mike’s shoulders, rubs his hands along his arms, down his back, down the sides of his legs to dry him off.

Harvey keeps a hand at Mike’s back as he leads him back to the bedroom, helps him into clean boxers and a worn old t-shirt of Harvey’s that he must have left here at some point and gets him settled propped up inside a nest of pillows and blankets.

He hands Mike his tea and toast, “small bites, and just sip that.”

Mike looks a little better, still too pale and shivering, even though he has the sheets pulled up over his shoulders, just one hand left free to hold his mug when Harvey rolls his eyes at his pout and feeds him the toast himself.

He looks flushed though, and Harvey fusses, presses a hand to his warm forehead.

“Don’t even _think_ about getting a fever, do you hear me?”

When Mike smiles at him it’s still too weak, half a grimace, and Harvey doesn’t like this at all.

“Yes, sir.”

Harvey texts Donna to cancel his appointments for the rest of the day and to send someone over with as much flu medication as they can find. When he answers the door to Ray an hour later, who asks if Harvey needs a ride back to work, it occurs to Harvey that Mike will probably be fine here by himself, especially now that he has proper meds and is all tucked up, clean and comfortable in bed. He’ll probably fall asleep any minute now, the rest will be good for him and he won’t miss Harvey, who probably shouldn’t just skip out on the entire day.

Mike shuffles into sight then, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hair sticking up all over the place where it’s dried from his shower. He waves to Ray and thanks him for coming over and then looks at Harvey.

“No, you take the rest of the day off, Ray. Pick me up here in the morning?”

“Sure thing, bossman.”

Ray smiles, tells Mike to get better soon, and is gone.

Harvey finds a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that fit him and climbs into bed with Mike, who faintly protests that Harvey will catch whatever he has, but Harvey isn’t worried about himself and says so.

They watch terrible daytime television together and Harvey makes sure Mike takes the right medications at the right times, gets him tea and checks his temperature and asks him every half hour how he’s feeling until Mike lifts Harvey’s hand away from his forehead, holds his arm up so he can snuggle into his side, and murmurs sleepily that he’s fine, he feels okay, he’s getting better.

Harvey looks down into Mike’s face, his eyes closed and his cheek pressed heavy against Harvey’s heart, and he believes him.

 

 

 

 

 

  
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End file.
